Paper Doll Orphan
by Dedae
Summary: This takes place after Christine leaves the Opera Populaire with Raoul De Chagny. A twist from the ending that the movie delivers. I based this on my viewing of the Broadway musical The Phantom of the Opera.
1. IntroductionPrologue

**Paper Doll Orphan – Introduction / Prologue**

_The pairings are Erik/Christine, Chrisitne/Raoul and a side of Andre/Carlotta.  
The rating is generally PG-13. Due to probable violence, upcoming insults (between Raoul and Carlotta??) and such.  
Plus, for those who don't want sentimental/long descriptions...the first few chapters may appear hell-ish._

_  
And please post/comment on stuff other than fragment sentences, spelling, grammar, verb tense mistakes. Oh, and I do also accept flames (cough__not__cough) If you do feel like flaming either keep it to your deviant self, or message me. That is...if you dare try to defy my wrath (haha).  
_

_  
Oh! Damn...I knew that I forgot to mention something...this is _**_after_**_ the movie/broadway thingy-ending...I didn't see the movie, so don't ask me random questions like "Gerry's so hot...don't you think?" I've only seen the sexy man in Timeline...so yeah. cough I just saw the Broadway production in August (Hugh Panaro played the Phantom...)._

☼☼☼

The rain beat heavily against the window panes at the summer villa. It had been raining for three consecutive days and it seemed like mother nature's wrath hadn't given up. Nor did Christine' soul. She longed to return to the Opera house back in Paris, but Raoul always had the last word. This irritated Christine because she no longer felt free; she couldn't wander the gardens of the De Chagny estate without an escort, she had to stay in the villa to supervise the servants, and above all, she was not to sing. 

"How could he do this to me?" she asked herself presently. 

Nothing seemed like a fairy tale...but with--she paused and delicately placed her hand to her mouth in fear of uttering the name which Raoul despised. Christine had been keeping to herself since Raoul left for business, which was nearly a week ago. She hoped that upon his return, he would bring back the favorable weather. She sighed and missed his presence, his smile and cheerful footsteps. Since Raoul left, she felt like as if her life was fading away like a flower's blossom. She had also been thinking of Erik, almost every moment. No, not almost...every single heart beat since her journey from Paris to the outskirts of France. 

A knock came at the door and Christine invited the servant, Madame Clairvoie, to enter. She was a short maid, who was fond of Christine and cherished her like a daughter. She saw Christine's sorrow and tried to tame it, but was never rewarded.

"Madame, why have you stopped singing? Where has your soul gone to?" she asked. 

Christine hadn't sung since Raoul's departure. Of course, the entire staff knew of the Comte De Chagny's conditions towards his fiancée. But who could ever tell the Count that his future bride secretly sang? Christine turned towards the old maid and smiled through reflection. 

"I believe that my soul has been eluding me for quite some time..." 

It dawned on Madame Clairvoie of the discomforting matter at hand and instead, changed the subject. 

"It appears that le Comte De Chagny is to return very soon...and with some guests. This letter came in for you." she handed her a sealed letter, "I must now leave to arrange the bedrooms for the guests. _Au revoir, mademoiselle_." 

The small figure gave a smile and headed out down the hallway after closing the door. Christine looked at the letter and was about to abandon it on her dresser when something caught her eye. Naturally, she would've thought that the letter came from Raoul, but there was something _distinctive_. She scanned the cursive text and she felt her heart beat like it used to--when it had life. Yes, she saw it now...the way "Daaè" was written, how the "t" in her name conflicted with the following "i". This handwriting was consistent with another's; she tore open the note, to find the initials "OG" on the bottom right...


	2. Chapter 1

**Paper Doll Orphan – Chapter One**

☼☼☼

That night, she tucked the letter into a leather bound album. Christine thought of it being foolish to carry the past with her, but it was all that was left for her to hold dear to. She noted as she flipped through the album the faded photographs. Her slender fingertips caressing a picture of herself on her father's lap, another of him and her mother. As she opened the last page, a paper figurine fell out. Christine bent over to retrieve it and found it to be a paper doll she used to play with as a child. She paused, and placed it inside the letter before slipping it into the album. Christine closed the book with ease and thought "This paper doll orphan's been neglected for some time, at least you'll keep her company, Erik."

She slept well for the very first time that night. It felt like Erik's letter brought comfort to her distressed state. She couldn't exactly remember the contents of the letter, the signature was all that consumed her thoughts.

Her slumber was disturbed by a presence which sat next to her. Christine breathed deeply and recognized a certain scent. The room's scent was of candles and rain. She opened her eyes slowly, a little cautious at first, and discovered a shadow sitting on the edge of the bed--its back to her. Christine brought herself closer and noticed the stranger's head rise. She placed her hand onto the shoulder and felt her spine shiver at the touch of the soaked man. He turned his head towards her, free of expression and yet, filled with pity. Christine, completely at loss, let her hands caress his face. She froze when his hand grasped one of her own.

"Angel as you can see here, I'm waiting. Stay by my side, guide me. Angel, my soul is lost, forgive me, please speak to me Angel..." Christine felt her throat tighten.

"My dear sweet siren, you know well that your soul is not lost. It's been absent for you have ceased to live, and to cease to live, is to cease to breathe."

"How can I learn to breathe again?" she half sobbed, knowing what she had to do to live again.

"Through salvation." he whispered as he leaned closer with death gleaming in his eyes.

Christine closed her eyes because she was taught that the truth came through diverse sensations. Parting her lips and tasting rain-beat lips, she searched for his heart with her hand to his chest. She felt a frozen hand on her collar bone, gently and so slight. Christine sighed into his lips, the lips of a living and thin-fleshed cadaver. Christine breathed in his frailty; she remembered his helpless and crushed figure when she left him. She opened her eyes with a start, waking up to a bright morning.

"Good morning, darling." beamed the man who sat beside the bed, "I suppose you slept well during my absence."

Christine nodded her head, perhaps her visit was a dream? Raoul looked at her with puzzlement.

"Yes, I did." she forced herself to sound rational, "How was your trip?"  
"Quite well, I'd like you to meet our visitors once you're ready."  
"Of course."  
"Good, meet me in the gardens, then."

Raoul bent over, kissed her on the forehead and was about to leave, when his hands touched the sheets.

"My God, but these sheets are wet!"


	3. Chapter 2

**Paper Doll Orphan – Chapter 2**

☼☼☼

"What do you mean?" she asked, as surprised as Raoul.  
"These sheets are wet, Christine."  
"I must've left the window open."  
"Yes, you must've but they're wet only on _this_ side."

Christine observed and it was true. She slept on the side which faced the window, and yet, the sheets weren't wet there. It dawned on her that the apparition was not a figment of the unconscious mind but in fact, Erik came in the dead of night to visit her. 

"Never mind, dear, I'll get Madame Clairvoie to tend the sheets." 

Raoul left the room, apparently not looking convinced in the matter. Christine whispered his name like a prayer as she touched the damp sheets. 

"Erik..." 

And the sheets smelled of candles and rain...  
------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Christine walked down the pathway leading to the garden, she tried to clear her mind--to wipe the slate clean. She tried to make sense of what had occurred. Did Erik truly visit her? No, it was impossible, or else she would've remembered what happened after they kissed. She felt herself redden and something alive erupted from within. Christine paused, she never felt this sensation before...never with Raoul. She thought constantly of his words, the way they exhaled from his deprived soul.

_"...your soul is not lost. It's been absent for you have ceased to live, and to cease to live, is to cease to breathe."  
"How can I learn to breathe again?"  
"Through salvation..."_

"Ah, my dear angel! She's finally arrived..." 

Christine came out of her reverie and saw Raoul stride towards her with newfound glee. He appeared to be in a better mood since their previous encounter that same day. She smiled as Raoul softly kissed her cheek and offered her hand to him, and was led towards the guests. 

"Gentlemen, I believe that you are already acquainted with my fiancée, Christine Daaè...or, I should rather say, soon to be, Christine de Chagny?" 

The men greeted Christine with delight. 

"Mademoiselle, it is splendid to see you once again!" exclaimed one.  
"Truly it is...a real pleasure!" said the other.  
"Mr. André! Mr. Firmin! I was not told that you were our honorable guests." said Christine. 

The sight of the owners of the Opera house made Christine excited because she never saw anyone else from the outside world. And when she did, she received aristocrats of such high-class ignorance, that it vexed her. And yet, a certain fire rekindled...one that should've been left snuffed out until the end of time. Christine ignored it and listened attentively to the three men converse. 

"So, my dear Comte, do you think she can sing for us? For the people?" 

Christine held her breath...return to the Opera house? It barely took her a heart beat in to decide.

"Of course!" she intervened. The _messieurs_ looked at her, as if she had suddenly appeared. She looked at Raoul and noticed a slight dominance in his features. She instinctively glanced at the teacup in her hand and forced a sip to ease herself.  
------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What in blazes were you thinking? Return to the Opera house!? After all that's happened to you? To us?" Raoul could barely soothe his rage towards Christine after the guests retired to their rooms. 

"I was just looking for my best interest." she replied defiantly. Besides, she had nothing left to do. It seemed like weeks went by rather than a single day at the de Chagny estate. She closed her eyes and turned herself away; feeling hands lightly on her arms, she sighed. At once, she smelled candles and rain and a smile etched on her face... 

_Erik_

Christine turned towards the figure, and was somehow deceived. Raoul stood where Erik should have been, in Christine's opinion. 

"Look," he said calmly, "I know that I've been a little bit of a tyrant..." Christine raised her eyebrows...a little?  
"But I have my reasons; I just don't want to see any harm done to you. You have been on my mind a lot, especially when I was away. I regret not staying here with you, because I know how lonely this place can be. But..." 

Their eyes locked and he said hurriedly, "do think about it thoroughly." 

Christine's smile returned as she kissed him before assuring the Comte of her decision. 

"Of course I will, darling." 

She turned and walked away, and when she thought that Raoul wasn't listening, she began to hum. Raoul smiled to himself and said, "That's what I thought" to no one in particular.  
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Deviantly yours,

AtF


	4. Chapter 3

☼☼☼

Erik slept; it was something that seemed impossible to him. Before, he'd sleep very little because the past racked his mind and fractured his slumbers. For once since the decline of his rule over the Opera house, he felt somewhat blissful. It was far better than having none. He awoke with a start from his desk. Erik rubbed his face and felt something cold.

"Oh, for the love of--" he grumbled several indecent words as he searched for tissue to wipe off the ink which now dripped down his face.

In the midst of the mild catastrophe, Madame Giry descended the stairs. She heard scowling and was not impressed. However, Antoinette smiled when she witnessed the Phantom's dilemma of spilled ink. "I guess he will need more ink, then." Chuckling softly, she advanced and offered her tissue to him. He stopped and looked at Madame Giry.

"You better hurry on and clean yourself, or else you're going to need a new mask to hide _that_." she indicated the splashed ink on Erik's face. He etched a grin and took Antoinette's tissue.

"I owe you a new hankerchief."  
"Don't fret about it."  
"Are you sure?"  
"I'm quite sure, M'sieur...in fact, I have a drawer full. Sometimes, I carry more than one with me."  
"Are the dancers that pitiful?"  
"There's that and then there's opportuned moments like this. It's not everyday that _le fantome de l'Opéra_ decides to do a little bit of face painting."

Erik looked at her mockingly.

"I'm starting to understand why I enjoy your company so much Madame."  
"How so?" she asked through her think Parisian accent.  
"We're both sarcastic figures who strive to prove our ingenuity. Alas, we are trapped under this roof with little recompense."  
"M'sieur, I do not think it is fair--"  
"I think it is quite fair. You, the genius in choreography and I, the genius in music...but sometimes I believe that I patronize myself too much."  
"Don't say that, M'sieur! You deserve every full right to that title."  
"If only...sometimes, I feel unsatisfied, it is never enough. I couldn't keep hold of--"

He stopped wiping the ink off his face. Erik leaned over the writing desk, his hands flat against the surface. He shut his eyes, but it was no use...he saw her there, _inside_ his mind. She was the cause of his downfall, the face that turned away and left him for good.

"M'sieur, I shall no longer burden you. I will return later, if you so please."

"Antoinette, I--" he turned around to speak to her, but he found himself alone. His heart rose a little, Madame Giry was imitating his movements. At least he still had a welcoming and kind soul that visited him. All he had in his head was Christine. She consumed his thoughts evermore. Erik sighed and retired to his chair, facing his scattered works.


	5. Chapter 4

☼☼☼

Night arose as Erik paced to and fro in his lair. He felt the seething rage boil through his decayed veins--he could hear the undead rhythm of his heart beat in his ears. His mind deep in thought taunted him. He heard voices shrill; endless cruelty, which pulsed intensively. _Fool, deranged, lunatic, half-faced, unloved, animal!_ His hands muffled his ears, but the voices hadn't reached their climax. His blood pumped faster and louder. It ached the spirits inside of him. Where was Christine? He needed her so...

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christine awoke early and found Raoul still slumbering. She breathed slowly, admiring her fiancé's sleepy state. His lips parted slightly, his hands wrapped affectionately around a pillow. Christine was envious of the pillow, ridiculously envious. His eyelids were a tint darker than the rest of his face--clearly, he struggled to gather some sleep. He moved his head, in order to settle it deeper into the pillow. Christine smiled at Raoul and caressed his face. Unconsciously, one of his hands touched her's and pulled it away. She gasped at the suddenness and sighed--Raoul still slept.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Erik?" Antoinette descended once again down the Phantom's lair.  
"Erik? Where are you?"  
She reached the final step and gasped. Erik's body was eerily posed onto the throne. His head hung backwards, his entire body crouched like a small child who clung against harsh winter's veil. His face was so deathly pale and his orbs were concealed behind lightly shut stretches of skin. The grey circles under his eyes contrasted his flesh.  
"Oh, Erik..." she sighed sorrowfully.

Antoinette sat on the chair facing the numerous works illustrated by the Phantom. Her eyes caught a small scrap of thickly waxed paper. She read the words and sobbed loudly. Each word which hung through ink was a reflection of Erik.

_This nightmare began at birth, I felt pain on my first breath, and days went by not because I rejoiced for life--rather I rejoiced for death._


	6. Chapter 5

☼☼☼

When Raoul finally awoke, Christine made up her mind. She was to return to the Opera house. Raoul didn't betray an emotion. He smiled and kissed her cheek, praising Christine for her choice. She couldn't help but feel suspicious of Raoul's gentle behaviour. It was clearly out of line and yet, he contained himself rather smoothly. 

"Well," he said after an interval of silence, "we better start packing, if we are to arrive by tomorrow the very latest."  
"Oh, Raoul! Thank you, darling! Thank you." she hugged him before briskly marching to her room to prepare herself for the exhausting trip.

------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

The ride by coach was long and extremely uneasy. It felt as though the road back home was like a perilous ride to hell. Christine shuddered the thought away and leaned against Raoul affectionately. He hadn't spoken since their departure and she tempted him several times into diverse subjects. The discussions ended briefly by Raoul's short and decisive responses. Christine's persistence grew to the point where her next approach was the heart of her worries.

"Do you think he's still there?" she spoke casually.

She felt Raoul's hand, which was clasped into hers, tighten.

"What makes you think that, my little lotte?"  
"You know what I mean, Raoul. If you don't desire to talk about it, just say so...don't make me feel absurd."

There was an uneasy silence.

"Do you regret letting me go back?" she asked. 

Raoul shifted and took her face into his hands. Concern was etched in his face.

"Now what makes you think that? What-?" he closed his mouth and searched into her eyes.  
"Whatever you ask of me to do...I'd be willing to for your sake. I'm only fretting because I deeply care for you, Christine. I nearly lost you and I promised myself to never let that happen again. I know you truly belong at the Opera house...and if he's still there, I vow to challenge him if he ever dares disturb your happiness."

"Oh, Raoul!" Christine leaned into a kiss just as the coach stopped. A caterwauling cry arose outside.

"Basta! Your dilemmas make this diva very sick!" cried the Prima Donna.


	7. Chapter 6

☼☼☼

Madame Giry gasped at the touch of something clutching her shoulder. She spun about and met Erik, their noses barely an inch apart.

"Erik!" she cried out as she embraced him tightly.

Antoinette knew that Erik didn't like to be touched in such a manner recently, but those were the least of her worries. She felt his heart skip a beat at the collision and in turn, his arms around her. Then, his hands slid to her arms as he distanced himself. A short playful smile was on his lips and Antoinette couldn't help but return a smile.

"I believe this is yours." she took the abandoned mask from the writing table and offered it to the Phantom. His eyes glanced momentarily at the mask with vigilance and he took it. Erik held on to it, observing the curved edge and fingering the forged wrinkle on the brow of it.

"I don't need it for now." he then turned away and sat in front of the organ. It hadn't been used for nearly seven months; He stared at it, unsure at first what to do. His mind drew a blank; perhaps later he'll attempt to play.

"I never saw you sleep. I was worried that you may have--"  
"Died...I know."

His fingertips caressed the keys lightly, as if any force applied would cause them to crumble to ashes.

"Do you always sleep like that?"  
"Generally, no. However, the circus I grew up in didn't call me _l'enfant quasi mort_ for nothing." 

He stopped the gliding motion of his hands over the keys and furrowed his brow.  
"I am perplexed, why did messieurs Andrée and Firmin leave? Where were they bound to?"  
"But how did you know? That's what I wanted to tell you when I first came down here."  
"Madame Giry, I do not fancy myself being called the Opera Ghost for pure delights. It is a standard way of living I choose to accept."  
"Such a heavy note coming from you, monsieur."  
"Indeed. Hist, something wicked this way comes."  
"No! No! No! Non è possibile! I do not want to hear another word of it!"  
"Is that--?"  
"Yes, it seems like our prima donna is upset...and it won't be the last time."

Because of the several rooms in the Opera house which have been tampered by Erik, the Phantom would gain first hand knowledge of anything or anyone inside the building. Also, he didn't need go far, he would hear everything without detaching himself from his underground settlement. It was one of his many secrets and one of the very few which Antoinette ever knew.

"Is there anything else that I need to know?"

Madame Giry shifted towards the lit candles and felt ashamed.  
"You have magnificent candles. I wonder how much time it takes them to decorate themselves with their own wax." Her fingers traced some of the dried rivers of wax on a candle.  
"Forever, that's why I tend to manipulate their appearance most of the time. It's the perfect way to let time go by when nothing comes to me."  
"Oh."

For a long time, both said nothing and Antoinette feared the moment. She felt his hand grip her wrist and violently turn her to face him. Madame Giry winced at the pain in her wrist. She saw the fiery eyes sheer her soul. 

"Is there," his voice adamant, "anything else that I need to know?"  
"You're hurting--"  
"Is there?!"  
"Please, I--" she felt very faint, like as if he held her throat instead of her wrist.  
"Mademoiselle Daaè is back." Antoinette felt the grip loosen and took the opportuned moment to free herself. She held her wrist to her chest and sighed.  
"I am so sorry." she said pathetically.

Nothing would restore Erik; he had lost all control and felt disgusted with himself.  
"I'd like to be alone, Antoinette." he said stolidly.  
Without waiting, Madame Giry directed herself back towards her own room. As she left the Phantom's lair, she heard his familiar melancholic voice echo.

"Forgive me."


	8. Chapter 7

☼☼☼

"Signora!" cried Andrée and Firmin in unison. They were pleading with la Prima Donna for half an hour and their justifications didn't seem to please her. Since Christine Daaè's arrival, Carlotta began her monstrous rampage in the Opera house. She paced through various rooms, trying to find the owners. As she left a room , Carlotta would slam it shut and leave a redolent scent behind.

"When were you two going to tell me that _she_ was to come here? On _my_ stage!?"

Just then, Raoul de Chagny entered, his head first to see if there was any serious damage. He saw nothing troubling except Carlotta's wrath. Gathering his wits, he stepped in and courteously acknowledged Mr. Andrée, Mr. Firmin and lastly Carlotta. She, in return, was shocked and noticed an innocent smile play on Raoul's lips. Clearly someone was enjoying the moment. Carlotta chose to ignore it with a wave of her lorgnette. Both messieurs were delighted to see a familiar young face again.

"Ah! Our admirable Count! We are pleased with your return." Carlotta included a "Humph!" and exited the room; her head reeled back and high in complete hostility. All three men watched her departure and looked at each other with either a shrug or raised eyebrows. Then, they resumed their welcoming.

"So...how was your trip to Paris?" asked Andrée.  
"Oh, come on now, monsieur Andrée, you don't have to hide your anticipation. He likes to know how mademoiselle Christine is." he said this last remark to Raoul, who in turn gave a smile.   
------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Erik left his abode and concealed himself in the room where the props and sets were stored from previous productions. He stared at some of them with mild interest and others with pure detachment. Usually, this room would become useful when he needed inspiration, or to never be discovered. He didn't want to see Madame Giry, it would only remind him of what he had done to her; all the more reason in calling him dangerous. Erik hid his anguished face in his hands as he sat on the bed used for "Il Muto". What was happening? Everything was never as it was before. By the iteration of Christine's name, he could unleash such devastating events that all, including himself, would suffer. Through his chain of thoughts, Erik didn't hear the door of the room open and a tango of footsteps rush nearby. A voice awoke him from his thoughts. It was the voice like that of an unmentionable goddess which broke his despair.

By the sudden realization that he wasn't alone, Erik jumped and fell off the large bed. He grunted out the discomfort of the hard flooring and made a mental note that he ought to send a notice to messieurs Andrée and Firmin. They are to change to composition of the floor in order to prevent unfortunate mishaps and injury. He feared to have hurt his back or worse, his tail bone. His attention was directed towards the culprit. The voice broke off to humming and Erik stayed still. He caught sight of a large mirror and recognized it as one of his own. The figure entered in view of the mirror and Erik felt a jolt down his spine. 

"Christine?" he blurted out and instantly regretted his action.

Christine's silhouette stopped humming and went towards the bed. She thought to have heard something or someone. Her heart danced and when she looked to the side of the bed, Christine found no one. Disappointed, she moved towards the mirror and sighed. Christine was unaware that on the other side of the mirror, stood the Phantom. His head leaned sideways against the frame as he stared back. He noticed her hand on the reflecting surface and he placed his mirror-like. Erik noticed her eyes gleam with a tint of sorrow and discovered that she still loved him and perhaps, more than ever...


	9. Chapter 8

☼☼☼

"What is the meaning of all this!?" Carlotta was on her vicious rampage once again. This time, she was told that her belongings were to be removed and carried to a smaller dressing room. 

"Didn't you hear?" asked Antoinette, her bandaged wrist to her chest, "I said that your articles are going to be transported to another dressing room designed for your needs." her Parisian voice cracked like a whip and startled la signora Carlotta to silence. The prima donna's nostrils dilated like those of a raging bull and she eyed the bandaged wrist.

"And what happened to you?"  
"That is none of your damned business."  
"Perhaps not," she began to stroll off, but stopped and turned back to face Antoinette. "But I know he's still here and you're the one who's hiding him."  
"The Opera Ghost can handle himself, signora, and he can easily handle any problematic soul in this establishment as well."

La signora was shocked, as though Madame Giry had slapped her and recovered herself.

"We'll see about that!" she walked off.  
"Perhaps he'll see..." Antoinette mused herself before going into her own room and locked the door. She breathed deeply as she felt her sprained wrist twitch slightly. Antoinette was unsure of his recent whereabouts; it's been four days since the last time that she encountered him—the same number of days since Christine and Raoul arrived. She only hoped that he was alright, but her instincts told her otherwise.

"Mother?" Meg Giry walked towards her mother; she had been worried of what had happened. She recalled Madame Giry coming back into their shared room, her wrist to her chest and trembling.

"What is the matter?"  
"Nothing my _little rayon de soleil _, nothing."  
"It's your wrist, isn't it?" 

Antoinette nodded her head and sat herself down on the soft red armchair.  
"He did that, didn't he?" Meg looked sad. "He didn't need to, it's his fault. He's the one who brought himself down there."  
"No, Meg. I brought him here. And this isn't his fault." She motioned her wrist. "He cannot contain himself down below any longer. He needs to roam about to chase away his thoughts."  
"His thoughts of demonic doing." Meg said beastly.  
"No‚ his thoughts of Christine." corrected Antoinette.   
------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

A miracle took place. Once again, Erik found himself in front of the organ. This time, however, he thundered his hands onto the keys—reviving the long forgotten and deceased music he once sought. 


End file.
